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«Rudel, Rudel, Geoffrey Rudel, Give me her picture back!

Without her face against my breast The world grows dim an black.

„Rudel, Rudel, Geoffrey Rudel, Give back my life to me!

Or I will kill you, Geoffrey Rudel And take it desperately!“

Then straightway awoke and rose Rudel—

And hey, but he was white! Thin and fierce his lips were set; His eyes were cold and bright.

The picture's in his left hand, The dagger's in the right. Stabbed to the core, upon the floor Fell down that stranger knight.

Rang loud the swords in the scabbards, The voices loud and high—

„Let pass, let pass!“ cried out Rudel, „Let pass before he die“—

The lords fell back in grim array Around the dying man:

«„For pity and pardon, let him kneel And pray if so he can!“

But never a word said Geoffrey Save only,*Who is she?“

One moment smiled the dying

man—

„The Lady of Tripoli!“

He opened wide his sea-blue eyes, Dead, in a face of stone...

Out to the windy dark Rudel, Unhindered, rushed alone.

Part II.

Hew the timbers of sandal wood And planks of ivory,

Rear up the shining masts of gold And let us put to sea.

„Sew the sails with a silken thread That all are silken too,

Sew them with scarlet pomegranates Upon a sheet of blue.

„Rig the ship with a rope of gold And let us put to sea.

And now goodbye to good Marseilles And hey for Tripoli!“

Up and down the golden ship That’s sailing to the south,

Rudel goes singing so himself, A smile about his mouth.

And up the masts and on the bridge The sailors stop to hear:

There’'s not a lark in the May-heaven Can sing so high and clear!

There's not a thrush or a nightingale Can sing so full and glad.

Yet there’s a soul that sighs i'the song, And the soul is wide and sad.

Rudel goes singing to himself As he looks across the sea— „Lady“, he says,*T'll sing at last, Please God, in Tripoli“.

For pale across the wan water A shining wonder grows,

As pale as on the murky night The dawn of pearl and rose.

And dim across the flood so grey A city'gins to rise,

A pale, enchanted Eastern place, White under radiant skies.

O domes and spires, O minarets, O heavyheaded drowse Of nodding palms, O strangling rose, Sweet in the cypress boughs!

„Heave-to, O mariners, heave ashore As swiftly as may be.

Go, now, my stripling page, along The streets of Tripoli,

And say Rudel, Rudel has come— And say that I am he.“